Holding Back, Holding On
by Dingbat142001
Summary: Oneshot. And even know, hours later, when she's wrapped in his bulky academy sweater, he still finds it hard to breathe. He could have lost her. DL


**Title: Holding Back, Holding On**

**Rating:** FRT  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. Just the idea.  
**Spoilers**: Um, don't think so…

**Summary**: And even know, hours later, when she's wrapped in his bulky academy sweater, he still finds it hard to breathe. He could have lost her. DL

* * *

The burning in his chest won't subside. It lingers long, and deep with a throb that, despite the rescue, has grown to a gut wrenching twist in his abdomen. 

A two inch long gash mares her forehead, while a bruised jaw, and cut cheek violate her pretty features, but even those do nothing to diminish her beauty. Actually, there's nothing, he thinks, that can diminish the beauty of coal eyes, and whiskey hair.

He remembers waking in this vary room by the ring of his cell, and a panic ridden gasp, as ironically enough, he dreamt she wasn't alright. And even know, hours later when she's wrapped in his bulky academy sweater, hair damp from a cleansing shower, he still finds it hard to breathe.

He could have lost her.

He vaguely recalls tears running down his cheeks as he cradled her in his lap when she was found in the seedy back alley, clothing torn, gun settled in her hand, perp lying beside her, fatal wound to the chest.

He banishes the thought away as his eyes burn with another bought of tears. She must have noticed his discomfort, for she bites her slightly swollen lip, and scrunches her hands in the oversized sleeves, feet fidgeting, as if she's unsure of what to say.

He wants to run up to her, circle her in his arms, and never let go, but he's afraid.

Afraid to suffocate her.

Afraid to push.

Afraid he'll hurt her.

Selfishly enough, afraid she'll hurt him.

He's worked with assault victims. He knows these things either work two ways. One, the victim greedily hangs on for dear life, terrified of the idea of being alone, or two, savagely pushes any form of comfort away, for fear of flashbacks and deja vu, of touches, and forceful confines.

Obviously, she's not sure of which one to do either. She stands beside his...their...bed, while he stands on the other side of the room, desperate to hold her, yet respectful of her ordeal.

The silence is unnerving. He wants to hold her, to kiss her, to take away all the pain she endured. But he can't. He won't do anything until she says. Until she feels comfortable with human...male...contact again.

"Touch me,"

Her voice whispers through the fog of uneasiness. He gulps in a breath at her words, as his eyes move from her bruised legs, to her dark, haunted orbs. There was a need he wasn't sure he could give. A need he knew he couldn't give.

He says nothing as she makes her way towards him, stopping to gaze at him with wide doe eyes, residual fear behind the apparent want.

"Make me forget," she repeats again, moving her hands to the top button of his shirt. He loosely grabs her hands, for fear of hurting her bruised wrists, and pulls her hands to waist height.

"Linds, no," of all the things she could have said, he hadn't expected this. He had hoped not, for he knew he couldn't give her what she wanted. He wasn't sure if he could ever give her that again. Too many people were forever haunted by this kind of thing. No, she thankfully, wasn't raped, but with the torn shirt, and ripped pants, she very well could have been, that, or worse. That moment he swore he'd never think a nasty thought again, but that was quickly distinguished when he felt another rise of violent tendencies toward the man who caused such hurt.

"Please, Danny," dark eyes plead; dislodging her hands from his, and begins undoing the top few buttons of his shirt.

This time he didn't fight her actions, but he does try to talk her out of it.

"Linds, I don't think-"

"You're afraid you'll hurt me," she says with brute honesty, fingers gently brushing the cotton of his tank as they continue to the last few buttons. "You won't hurt me, Danny."

"Lindsay, I-"

"I can still feel his hands on me," she admits, her delicate fingers undoing the last remaining button of his oxford, and pushing the shoulders down his arms to a heap around his ankles. "The calluses on his left palm, the cut on his right thumb..." Danny blinks back tears "...the single long nail on his index finger. God, Danny, they're everywhere," she breathes out, hands running up his chest and around his shoulders to grip his biceps, then down to his hands.

"Right here," she says, bringing his right hand under the sweatshirt to rest on her purple ribcage, just below her left breast. "And here," the left going to the cut on her collarbone where the sweatshirt falls off her shoulder. "And over here," bringing both hands to her waist, where bruises form from being held down.

"Please, Lindsay, don-"

"You can make it go away," she breathes, moving her hands from where they were, holding his, to run up and down his chest, paying particular attention to the valley between his pectoral muscles, and his abs that twitched underneath his tank.

Danny almost cries. She wants something he shouldn't give, wouldn't give, couldn't give. Did she know what she was asking of him? Did she know how nauseous he got, seeing the bruises and cuts of that man on her? Did she really believe that sex could change anything that happened in the past 12 hours? Did she really believe that she could forget? That he could?

She moves closer, slipping a slender black and blue speckled thigh between his legs causing him to jump a bit, bare toes pulling at the hem of his jeans, hands splayed at his abdomen, head titled, lips parted, lidded eyes begging for something they wouldn't receive, at least not anytime soon.

"Do what you always do," she says, bringing her thigh further up his. Danny moves back, a small amount out of her touch. "Make me forget every other man who's touched me."

Danny's knees buckle slightly at her words. Any other time, that sentence would have been his undoing with little to nothing being able to pull him away. But that was any other time; a time where bruises didn't litter the picturesque beauty before him, and a time where emptiness, and desire, didn't reflect in coal eyes.

He had to put a stop to this. Either way, some one was going to get hurt.

"Lindsay, I sai-"

"I don't give a damn what you said, Danny," fire erupts in her dark orbs as she shoves him back a fraction, before grabbing his tank and pulling him back to her, "I want you. I need you. "

To say he's shocked by her sudden outburst would have been a lie. He was expecting it. Fits of rage, then crashes of anguish were typical in this situation, and Lindsay, however much she liked to think she was invulnerable to this sort of thing, was like every other victim.

Her hands make a beeline for his belt buckle, flicking the pin from its hole and sliding the leather strap through the loop, only to abruptly halt just as Danny goes to stop her.

Danny grabs her just as her legs give out, body wracked with sobs.

He's not sure how long they stay there, sitting on the bedroom floor, but by the time she cries herself out, his tank is drenched and legs are cramped underneath him.

"I heard-" she sniffles into his neck, "I heard him undo his belt." Danny tenses at these words, it now dawning on him why she broke when she did. The sound of his belt undoing was reminiscent of her attacker's; the slight clang of metal on metal sending warning signals to her brain.

He was never going to wear a belt again.

"I was so scared," she muffles into his chest "When I felt him come up behind me, I knew it wasn't you. I can feel when you're around. He-"

"Shh, baby, I'm right here. He can't hurt you anymore," if only Danny could believe what he's saying. No matter if this guy is behind bars or not, he would still hurt her. Rubbing her back, he gently kisses her temple, not sure of what else to do; of what was safe to do.

"Danny," she pulls her head from the crook of his neck to look at him through red, puffy eyes. "Could you..." she trails off.

"Could I what?" Danny gently prods, hoping she isn't asking what she had previously been so adamant in getting.

"Could you...kiss me?" Danny's heart breaks at her inquiry. She sounds so vulnerable and childlike as she burrows into his neck. "The last person to kiss me wasn't you and I..."

Moving a finger underneath her chin, he tilts her head up to look at him, searching her eyes for a moment, before leaning down and lightly caressing her lips. He thanked God that he was already on the floor, for if he was standing, that's where he would have ended up anyway, when she sighs against his lips. He moves to pull away but a hand nestling his stubbled jaw stops him, as he lets her set the pace.

They sit there for some time, content with the simple sweep of lip on lip, until Lindsay pulls away to nuzzle into his neck.

"I love you."

"I love you too, baby."

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ I know almost all DL fics end with 'I love yous', but I was really stumped on how to end this. So there! 


End file.
